after everything (or how we rebuild and become whole again)
by erisa7
Summary: after the second war: percy, annabeth, and the rest of the seven rebuild their lives and learn to heal. takes place after BoO. additional chapters for each of the seven.
1. percy and annabeth

a/n: so, um, this is a little different. i can't really explain my inspiration other than by saying that the words struck at like, 2:00 AM in the dark and i just decided to go with it. also, percy jackson was my first real love and i loved it so much that i was too afraid to write fanfiction about it because i really thought i would ruin that perfect fictional world lol. i've written another, super short one-shot, which i was quite hesitant about – so i'd like to thank jazzybookworm99 and bitchworthy (lol now THAT is a username) for reviewing, and everyone who favorited/followed, for giving me the confidence boost to post this mess of a fic as well. anyway, this is long and rambly, but let me know how you feel about this idea and this writing style! i plan to add chapters specific to each of the seven, actually, but i thought i'd start with my be all, end all: percy and annabeth.

* * *

"as i rebuild my life, i remind myself not to relive the past." - chelsea manning

* * *

after everything, they stay at camp for a few days, assisting with repairs and healing the wounded. from the first light of dawn, all the campers - romans and greeks alike - work together to bring back the lives they had all built for themselves.

maybe they're fooling themselves. it doesn't matter, really - at the very least it keeps their mind of the nightmares they are all trying so hard to run from.

* * *

annabeth joins percy at the poseidon table at their first meal back. the others spare a quick glance, the newer campers whisper curious questions, but there is no protest.

the rest of the seven, and nico and reyna and thalia and grover whenever they're visiting, join them after a while.

they eat mostly in silence - the little they eat at all - but, after everything, there's a familiarity between them that stops them from tensing their hands around their weapons and looking over their shoulders.

they do it for each other instead.

* * *

percy shows up at the athena cabin just as annabeth is settling her few possessions onto her bed. the bunk feels smaller, somehow, and almost too comfortable, and as though it doesn't belong to her, never mind that she's been sleeping in it since she was seven years old.

percy takes one look at her, the uncertainty and helplessness on her face clear as day to him and _only_ him, and swiftly informs her brother malcolm that annabeth will be staying with him. annabeth - fierce, independent, powerful annabeth - doesn't protest his speaking for her, because now when he does it's because he knows what she wants before she can even verbalize it herself. malcolm nods, warns them dutifully of chiron and mr.d and the more gossipy campers, hugs annabeth goodnight and shuts the door behind them before their other siblings can see and ask questions.

later, in the poseidon cabin, they lay together on one bunk, not pressed together or tangling their limbs, but facing each other, percy's hand over annabeth's, each clasping the other's with a grip strong enough to hurt.

they're both quietly grateful for the pain. sometimes it's all they can feel, after everything.

* * *

a week later and annabeth decides to gently suggest visiting paul and sally. chiron has informed them, and all the parents, about the war and what happened and who was hurt, but annabeth knows sally is dying to see percy with her own two eyes. she's being a little selfish, too, because after everything sally has become the closest thing annabeth herself has to a real family and there's nothing she wants more than to sit at the breakfast counter in her and paul's apartment, eating freshly baked, blue tinted chocolate chip cookies and discussing historical trivia with paul.

percy's strangely apprehensive, and when they're walking along the beach hours later, he quietly admits that he doesn't know what he could possibly say to his mother to make up for what he's put her through.

annabeth stops in her tracks, tugs on his hand to make him face her and stands on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face into his shoulder.

they stand, still and silent, unmoving as the waves lap at their ankles and the chatter of campers echoes far behind them.

she loves you, annabeth whispers into his ear. she loves you more than anything in this world.

it's simple and honest and not exactly revolutionary, but it works and it's perfect because it's annabeth and it's percy, it's them and this is how they function.

he nods, and she feels his tears, and when they return to the big house she speaks for the both of them and tells chiron they'll be heading into the city for a while.

percy doesn't protest because now when she speaks it's like she knows who he is and what he wants inside and out.

* * *

when sally opens the door and sees them, her entire body seems to sag with the weight of it. her eyes sparkle with tears even as a broad, albeit wobbly grin spreads across her face. percy's own eyes burn and his jaw is so tightly clenched it almost hurts, but all he can think is that _it's his mom, it's his mom alive and healthy and safe, it's his mom with those laugh lines and calloused hands and warm laughter and his home._

he wraps his arms around her and breathes deep, responds to her cries with 'i love yous' of his own and only loosens his grip when sally reaches for annabeth, too.

sally bakes them blue tinted, chocolate chip cookies and they eat at the kitchen counter. percy almost can't believe it's real, and for a second he really doesn't, because he pinches the skin on his wrist, hard, wondering for a moment of panic if it's all part of some daydreamed illusion and he and annabeth are still in that pit, alone and desperate and terrified. before he can pinch harder, however, annabeth catches his hand and intertwines their fingers underneath the counter and percy thinks, it's real and after everything, he's more grateful than ever before.

paul comes home from work, sees the two of them in their apartment and staggers against the wall. seeing him and his worn briefcase and lopsided tie, carrying a bag of cheap takeout from that one chinese place all four of them love just around the corner, annabeth has to fight the urge to burst into tears, which is ridiculous because she's annabeth chase and she isn't the kind of person who just starts bawling every two seconds like some weak little girl, but she can't help it, especially when percy reaches out tentatively to shake paul's hand and his stepfather pulls him in for a hug instead. her heart is so full it might break because _this, this right here, this_ is the family that percy always deserved and he's finally gotten it and, most of all, annabeth gets to be a part of it.

sally senses her train of thought and coaxes the words out of her late that night, and when she says it, her tone melancholy and grateful and _near tears again, damn it,_ she gives her a bittersweet little smile so similar to the one that percy has and says, annabeth. after everything, you're family.

* * *

the next few days are paradise to percy and annabeth - paul takes a few days off and they don't do anything extravagant or special or ceremonial - they just _live_.

sally teaches them her secret chocolate chip cookie recipe and percy is better at baking than annabeth by far (she follows the recipe to a T and calculates the exact baking time and measures perfectly even ratios of every ingredient, but every cookie always turns out slightly charred).

they spend a day at the museum of modern art and annabeth loses herself in the architectural themed exhibit, percy occasionally whining about his boredom but still following annabeth along as she practically skips from room to room rambling about structure and lines and technique (paul is the only one who can even attempt to keep up, although sally tries, and annabeth even ends up learning a thing or two from him).

paul and annabeth watch jeopardy every night and compete with both the contestants and each other to get the correct answer (although it's percy who wins a round about marine life and he won't stop bragging for _days_ ).

sally takes annabeth for a girls' day, which apparently consists of manicures and shopping and fancy, trendy meals. annabeth gets a shimmery gold nail polish and sally gets sea green, although they both get a matching fuchsia on their toes and develop a multitude of inside jokes that paul and percy are baffled by (annabeth will never admit it to anyone else, but the day is actually quite pleasant and when percy amusedly tells her the anchor-shaped earrings she bought impulsively are very on theme, she throws a shopping bag at him but hides a smile nonetheless).

when it comes time to return to camp, their goodbyes are bittersweet but percy and annabeth don't linger. he hugs his mother and stepfather for a long time, though, and when they get in the car to head back he waves until they're little more than pinpricks of color on a busy new york street.

* * *

they decide, on a whim, to spend a night in montauk.

it's afternoon by the time they reach the cabin, armed with necessary snacks and cheap b-list movies. the sun is warm on their skin and the sand reflects so brightly its as if each grain is made of stardust, colliding with blue ocean water at every tide and looking almost otherworldly.

percy sits on the beach and watches sea foam evaporate with every crash of the waves and says to annabeth: someday, i'm going to bring you here when we're happy.

she looks up from drawing absentmindedly in the sand (her doodles have become greek letters at some point, and they messily spell out percy's name). she teases, a little confused, aren't you happy with me now, seaweed brain?

percy gives her a crooked smile and she rejoices inside.

of course, wise girl, he answers, still grinning but there's something indecipherable in his eyes.

but later, he continues, after everything - we'll do this right.

she looks at him and he looks back calmly. she leans over a pile of sand from her sketching between them and gives him a quick, innocent kiss. when she pulls back her expression are serious and percy sees the change and holds her gaze steadily.

they don't speak but they both understand, and the tide rises and washes over their feet and percy purposefully douses annabeth in a particularly strong wave and she shrieks and he laughs and it feels like whatever the right way is, they're getting there.

* * *

time passes. the camps rebuild. percy and annabeth heal.

they are who they've always been, deep down: strong and resilient and stubborn and powerful and funny and honest and in love.

percy and annabeth still sleep curled up in one bunk, pressing their foreheads together or intertwining their fingers or wrapping and arm around each other; and when sally bakes cookies she adds blue food coloring every time, and wipes her happy-sad tears on the edge of her sleeve; and when the seven come to meals they still sit together at the poseidon table with weapons by their side but now wearing smiles and laughing easier.

after everything, they are not reborn nor recovered - but they are undoubtedly, unquestionably, somehow, some way, whole again.


	2. leo and calypso

"i fix what's broken - except in the heart." - bernard malamud

* * *

when they return to camp half-blood, the first thing leo does is revisit bunker 9. the place is intact and unchanged, every tool he had left dangling precariously off of a hook on the wall; every blueprint or drafting sheet stacked on worn wooden tables; every scrap sheet of celestial bronze piled into random corners - all of it remains still, and seemingly indifferent to the outside world.

but the outside world, of course, has changed drastically: a war has been ended; camps saved from destruction; demigods injured and many fatally so. bunker 9, however, even after everything, has stayed a utopian paradise far away from the chaos, a sliver of forever trapped between its walls.

* * *

returning to camp had taken some time. after finding calypso and repairing festus as best as he could with minimal supplies, they had found themselves making the trek to the nearest village in rural china.

calypso fell in love with it - the humid air, pressing down as if it weighed a thousand tons on her chest; the tall trees with monkeys and birds resting and fluttering through their canopies; and the occasional glimpses of the river, foamy rapids and crystal clear. it was so like her natural home of ogygia, but so different all the same: whereas in ogygia, every possible flaw - every hint of thunderstorm, every slight decay of fruit - was forbidden, here every flaw was a part of nature, a part of the lives these humans, mere mortals, had worked to build for themselves.

the pair of them stand out like aliens, but neither of then are too bothered - they're certainly able to defend themselves and most people assume them to be tourists.

it is the most apt description, funnily enough.

* * *

they enjoy themselves. leo knows, in the back of his mind, that once festus is fully repaired he has to return to jason and piper and the others, but this east asian forest with calypso by his side feels too paradisal to abandon so quickly. he settles for delaying repairs as much as possible, agonizing over every choice of metal scraps from the local markets they frequent regularly.

calypso, as eager to work and interested as she is, tires quickly of his procrastinating (leo also knows she senses the real reasons for his indecision).

your friends love you, she whispers to him one night. they lay together on the riverbank and listen to the crickets. they miss you, she says.

he gets a little angry then. he _knows_ they miss him, he _knows_ they love him, he knows he knows he _knows_.

she looks at him simply, unperturbed by the way his fingertips are sparking slightly and does not seem irritated by his fidgeting or his sarcasm or his anger, and says: then what are you so afraid of?

* * *

calypso realizes that of all the things she's seen of the outside world, the food is the most spectacular - how every dish can be prepared differently by every person. at home - and she still calls ogygia her home - her invisible spirits allowed for great variety, but she has tried every possible meal she could think of. now, in a new, foriegn place, calypso discovers flavors that truly are otherworldly.

she learns to cook the traditional dishes the villagers eat - as leo and she visit the market regularly, she watches the street vendors and commits their recipes to memory. one woman in particular runs the most flavorful rice noodle cart, and after seeing calypso there nightly she says in broken english: i'll show you how, young one.

the title amuses her. she looks young, certainly, and she's still not sure how she will age now away from ogygia - but her mind is old and weary, though sharp as ever. she likes playing pretend, though, and lets the cook order her around the little kitchenette and exasperatedly correct her mistakes.

so she visits the woman in the mornings before the market comes to life and follows her steps as best as she can, and learns and grows and changes and _becomes_.

* * *

calypso notices things that have changed in leo. he is quieter, and more reserved - though his jokes remain immature and loud and overly dramatic, there are fewer than before. and often, he gets a look in his eyes - where she's saying something and he's nodding along and then all of a sudden he's not there anymore, he's looking past her or through her and his shoulders stiffen and his eyes glaze over and his hands fidget with a thin wire or piece of metal until it breaks.

she supposes it has something to do with being dead, even if only temporarily. he won't tell her much about it, just that his plan worked and he came back and what's the use dwelling on it?

but calypso has seen many heroes in her time. she has seen them at their weakest when they come to her and at their strongest when they leave.

leo valdez, she knows, is not like the others. but after everything he is broken in some way and for all his talent, it is himself and himself alone that is the one thing he cannot fix.

it makes her sad, and then angry. that after everything, this boy, this hero, who saved her and gave her so much and loves her, even - that he is in pain and won't tell her and she can't heal him the way she's healed heroes before, in ogygia - because this is not ogygia and leo is not those heroes that came before him and perhaps their little paradise is not as perfect as they want it to be.

* * *

the repairs come to an end. festus whirs happily to life. calypso rolls up a handwritten recipe for rice noodles and places it in her bag.

they fly.

* * *

they take a break in the scottish countryside. the grass is green and damp when they land at dawn, and the wind whips fiercely through calypso's hair, stinging her face. she can't wipe a ridiculously goofy smile off her face.

leo grins at her. they locate a local inn and, after sending off festus and renting out a room for the night, head off in search of food.

the pub they find is packed with friendly drunks watching the television, groups of friends loudly singing incorrect lyrics, and quiet, morose loners. they drink scottish whiskey and eat fillet and mashed potatoes, and the pub owner inquires about their stay.

vacationing before the semester starts, leo says surprisingly smoothly, his fingers tapping rapidly on the wooden tabletop. friends in scotland.

calypso raises an eyebrow amusedly and asks teasingly: assuming we'd pass a semester of school? and there's no way anyone would buy that you have friends.

leo grins but his eyes look far away again, briefly. he leans back in the booth seat and looks at her.

not here, at least, he says. the grin looks awfully out of place.

it frustrates her that it's such a simple answer that he cannot see. but she doesn't want to fight, because the warm lights of the pub and the whiskey are making her sleepy even with the loud drunken chatter.

the two of them stumble back to the inn and leo collapses, fully clothed, on the bed, but calypso stays awake and watches the moon rise over rolling green hills.

she remembers ogygia and its palm trees and flat land and her invisible servants and thinks, neither are mine.

* * *

her heart aches, sometimes, for her old home. late at night, when leo is asleep or tinkering or repairing festus and she has time to look around her and just stare in pure disbelief. but then leo makes a bad joke or their banter kicks off or he presents her with a little invention - a crank-up elephant, once; and a celestial bronze rose with a smile and a _for you, sunshine_ \- and any homesickness (which she never thought she'd have) fades as suddenly and unpredictably as it arrived.

those nights, calypso and leo wander back to wherever they're staying the night and fall in love all over again.

* * *

when they leave scotland, it's a fairly quiet ride. they can't hear much over the wind, anyway.

* * *

the statue of liberty comes into view below them, a glistening green figure shrouded in fog.

new york looks cold and warm all at once to leo, if only because he knows his home is not far.

* * *

they land a half mile outside of camp half-blood's borders and leo sees a camper along the edge double take when they see him and calypso (although that may have something to do with the fact that they are accompanied by a metal dragon).

the camper shouts something, and after calypso's nudge he realizes its his name and the voice calling it is piper.

piper, his best friend.

he sees her figure grow larger and realizes she's running towards him and screaming his name and other campers have begun to follow, gathering at the edge of camp and six more eventually breaking out to run towards him, too.

calypso looks at him. go, she says.

leo starts. calypso, he says. i -

i know, she answers.

no, he says, and it's stronger. i couldn't have come back without you.

calypso's smile is as radiant as sunlight reflecting on celestial bronze even as she rolls her eyes slightly. she steps back from him and leo runs.

when he crashes into piper he lets her wrap her arms around his neck so tight he almost can't breathe and later, later she will punch him in the face for what he put her through, put all of them through, _you big idiot_ \- but for now she just cries and so does he, admittedly, and after a few seconds the rest of their friends join them.

and his heart, which had stopped for some time and then started again, whirring and creaking and stuttering along, feels fixed.


	3. jason and piper

a/n: so i realize this chapter revolves around leo's supposed death a lot, which i literally didn't acknowledge in ch. 1 (oops?), but that's mainly because i feel like there's no way piper and jason weren't heavily, heavily impacted by leo's disappearance, and i would imagine it really impacted their relationship with each other, too. anyway, yeah. just wanted to explain that because that's literally what this whole thing is about lol, happy reading!

* * *

"do you hear me, love?

we will always rebuild."

– jeanette leblanc

* * *

they had thought leo was dead.

they had thought, for days, that their best friend, the third of their trio, an irreplaceable part of their hearts, was gone, just like that, disappeared without a trace or goodbye in the act of some self-loathing-fueled self-sacrifice.

he'd showed up, of course, back at camp with festus and calypso and a stupid grin on his face (like always) even as they all cried their hearts out unashamedly and then they healed, together.

but that was later.

at first, they were torn apart.

* * *

when they returned to camp, piper had been dazed. everything happened around her with a sluggish, hazy quality – as if she was sitting inside a fishbowl and the outside world was just moving on around her, without her; life, nothing more than blurred images cycling past her vision, overlapping voices muffled by thick, bulletproof glass. the glass wasn't thick enough to keep out the pain, though, however much she tried.

* * *

piper is not involved in the funeral preparations. there's plenty to be done for the camp, and for the other campers – shrouds to be chosen, medical supplies to be gathered, wounded to be treated – but piper couldn't find it in her to do much of anything. she just…exists.

she sits on her bunk in the aphrodite cabin; or on the grassy hill at the edge of camp; sometimes, if she was feeling up to the walk, she'd make her way to the big house and recline on the worn, comfy couch in the main room and let herself forget everything but the feel of the scratchy fabric and the faint voices of campers echoing around her.

it is on one of those days that chiron finally approaches her. he enters the room and she is aware, alert, nearly breathless with the intense focus that war has left her with. but she doesn't move.

my child, chiron says, in that way of his. when piper looks up at him his face is sad but smiling, and there's an emotion there that she can't read for some reason. the others are looking for you. there are preparations, for leo.

piper lets her head fall back against the couch. no, she says. not now, not yet.

the ceiling is wooden and dark, and slants of light filter through open windows. it flickers golden along the wood and once in a while a particular beam sparkles especially bright, illuminating a thin column of the room. the dust floats.

she doesn't hear chiron leave, the way she expects, because surely he – like the others, like everyone else – must be saying and hearing and repeating the same mantra: space. she just need some _space_ , or she just needs some _time_ , or she just needs – needs needs _needs_ –

 _needs what?_

instead, when she looks back he's still standing in the same place. there's that same expression. she can identify the emotion now – and thank the gods it's not pity –

it's guilt.

he sighs, and then speaks: leo was brave, piper. he was worthy. and like i have done so often in my long, long life – i failed him, because we lost him. but he was brave and worthy and powerful, but, my child – you must understand that he is gone.

piper blinks. and then blinks again, and again. when she reaches her fingers to her face she realizes she's crying. chiron just looks at her sadly, and then he walks away.

* * *

at first, he and piper don't talk much. sure, they stay together, and the seven – sorry, six – of them sort of wander around in a haze, but they don't talk.

he tries to keep himself steady, and clear-headed, because as strong as they are percy and annabeth are weak and tired and rightfully so, and hazel and frank are busy with the romans and reyna, and nico is frantically trying to control the greek campers and someone needs to be the rational, stable leader, which is not an unfamiliar title for jason.

piper is grieving, he knows. he can't scarcely believe it himself and maybe that's part of the problem, but his best friend is dead and so are so many others and so jason makes lists and weighs pros and cons and organizes and arranges and solves because that's who he is and that's what he does.

 _jeez, lighten up, sparky!_

he hears the voice out of nowhere and sits up abruptly in his bunk in the zeus cabin, spinning around wildly and stumbling to the ground. when he gets his bearings he sees leo standing against a cold, white column and grinning. he gapes.

 _all work and no play makes jason a dull boy, you know. or something like that._ leo laughs and jason splutters, and for a moment he really could believe that leo is right there in front of him – but then his expression darkens and the smile disappears. he steps forward.

 _why did you let me die, jason?_

jason awakens with a gasp. the question echoes in his head like a cliched nightmare, and the cabin is empty.

* * *

that day jason catches piper in a storeroom near the infirmary, a box of fresh bandages in her hands.

he calls out to her and she turns, looks at him with dull, tired eyes and it hurts him to see her like this. he walks up to her and they just look at each other until she finally says, hi.

hi, he says back. i haven't seen you in a couple days.

she nods, shrugs, and: i've been busy, helping will.

there's silence.

and so have you, she continues, and her tone is laced with a twinge of anger. running camp. leading. you're busy.

jason doesn't know what she wants him to say, or if there is anything he could ever say. but piper presses forward and it's like she doesn't even see him anymore and her voice is sharp and painful and brutally honest.

our best friend is _dead_ , jason. he's dead and he's not coming back and after everything, after all of this we're still not fixed – and you're – you're too _busy_. her voice has risen to a tight strain and even through the anger jason hears her breath catch on the edge of a sob. he blinks back his own tears and just says, miserably:

i don't know what to _do_ , pipes. jason breathes, and then he curses when he feels a tear slip from the corner of his eye. he rubs it away furiously. _just tell me what i'm supposed to do._

the box of bandages falls to the floor. piper steps forward and wraps her arms around jason's neck and when his hands come up tentatively to the back of her head she lets her own tears fall. they fall apart together inside a storeroom among broomsticks and nectar jars.

* * *

piper walks along the beach and watches the tide sweep up and wash over her feet, leaving behind tiny pebbles and thin seaweed and odds and ends surfacing from some great depths below. when she looks up she sees a figure sitting on the sand and a flash of blonde curls fluttering in the wind. it's annabeth, and she's alone, which is a rare sight these days.

piper isn't sure either of them want company at the moment (since they are both at the furthest, most isolated end of the beach) but annabeth calls her name and waves.

piper makes her way over and sees two pairs of converse near annabeth's bare feet.

percy's swimming, annabeth explains. it's like she's reading piper's mind, although that wouldn't be much of a surprise to her.

piper sits next to her and they're quiet. she doesn't want to talk but she does, and she doesn't know what to say because here is someone who has loved and lost, here is someone who has lived through not one, but two wars and countless other battles and tragedies and pain and what is one lost friend compared to that?

listen, annabeth says. piper looks at her in the eyes and the stormy gray seems to peer right through her.

i am logical and reasonable and intelligent – and i _know_ , i know that war is war. but, annabeth says, fiercely. every time feels like fresh pain all over again and you shouldn't feel guilty or recovered or anything, the gods know i'm not one to be giving speeches, but – but you are allowed this, alright?

she wraps her hand around piper's in the sand and looks at her again and whispers: do you understand?

after a beat, piper nods, slowly. she turns away and the two girls look out at the ocean. blue-green water fades into a cloudy horizon and nothing punctures their quiet little bubble. she breaks it:

i've come to the conclusion that you're a mind reader, piper says. she turns to grin at annabeth and the older girl grins back.

the tide rushes forward and leaves behind a tiny broken seashell above piper's left toe.

* * *

the funeral proceeds, and the campers mourn. jason stands first, and he's been asked to speak, and every roman fiber in his body is screaming at him to pull it together but he can't.

he turns to face the crowd of campers and he sees piper's tearstained face to his right, and the small but reassuring smile she gives him is enough to nearly bring him over the edge.

he starts: leo was my best friend.

then he looks down at the ground, and his hands shake. when he looks back up the world looks wrong, somehow, as if everything is backwards or shifted or upside down or some kind of slightly warped vision like in a dream, and jason realizes that it _is_ wrong, because his best friend is dead.

jason swallows, but the words are still stuck in his throat and they feel heavy, like a weight of bricks is collapsing inside of him and all he can do is fight against the falling pieces.

he feels a hand on his shoulder and it's percy – percy, who looks him in the eyes and nods.

jason turns back around and says, again: leo was my best friend.

it's the start of a messy, incoherent speech that ends up meaning nothing, but it's important just the same.


	4. frank and hazel

"to fix hearts one must know one's own."

– will advise

* * *

long island is beautiful, and camp half-blood has a community, a vibrancy, a casual nature that appeals to frank, however roman, however strictly morally coded his mind has been trained to be – but between the friendly campfires and the chatty mess hall and the tides of the atlantic, he finds himself missing chilly san francisco, its perpetual fog and city buildings and california slang.

frank finds himself unable to identify how he feels, and this, at least, is familiar.

* * *

sometimes he looks up at the night sky, when he's alone, and thinks of his mother. he lets himself miss her, but every sparkling star just reminds him of a carefully wrapped kindling bursting into flames.

* * *

this is pain, frank thinks. it's when it builds and builds and builds and all of a sudden instead of release it's a glacier moving an inch and a chandelier crashing into a million little pieces and a volcano erupting in fiery clouds and that is it.

* * *

hazel spends hours lying on the hill at the edge of camp half-blood at night, watching stars twinkle sleepily and uncaring of the patrol harpies she's been warned about. one night, she hears a scream in the distance – it is annabeth's scream, and it's for percy, of course, because it does not matter that they are back and it does not matter that the war is over – they are still broken.

when hazel looks back at the night sky, the stars seem to be drifting closer, and closer, but they don't grow any larger even when millions hover just over her face. she reaches out and grabs a light speck of gold over her nose, catches it in her fist – and when she opens her hand she finds cursed diamonds, and the stars are now glimmering, beautiful, ruined jewels.

hazel awakens with a gasp. she's disoriented, and then she realizes that this is nothing new for her – disorientation is just a part of her life ( _life_ , _lives_ _– after everything, who can say?_ ).

she sits up in bed. her hands shake and when she opens her fist there's a sigh of relief. for the first time in a long time she sees an empty palm instead of diamonds and it's a blessing

* * *

you miss new rome, piper says. hazel sees the concern from her peripheral vision but refuses to slow down her pace as she carries damaged weaponry back to the armory.

everyone i love is here, she replies, quick and curt and yet, filled with emotion. why would i care where i am?

piper wheels around to face her. the sudden stop is enough to cause her to jerk slightly, and a broken arrowhead clatters noisily onto the ground.

it's ok, piper says, softly. there's this look in her eyes and maybe a hint of charmspeak in her voice. you're allowed to want to take a break.

hazel shakes her head. she's almost angry.

everyone i love is here, she repeats. and then, meaningfully: and i don't need a break any more than you do.

she watches as piper bites her lip, looks down at the arrowhead between them. i'm fine, she says quietly. i'm fine now.

hazel lets the remaining swords and daggers and shields fall to the ground beside them and steps up to take piper's hand. she smiles.

i'll take a break the minute you decide to look after yourself instead of everyone else, okay?

piper's answering grin is shy and somewhat exasperated. they pick up the weapons and walk away together, and hazel tells herself with more surety that ever before: _everyone i love is right here._

* * *

hazel is alone on her way back from the dining hall. or, she's alone until percy catches up to her with annabeth trailing behind with nico. she gives him a small smile and is delighted when he returns a boyish grin, even though her heart still tremors at seeing the dark circles under his eyes that refuse to go away.

percy swings an arm around her shoulders and they joke together, laugh and slowly the tremors ease. she is good at hiding them, but this time they seem to be receding for real.

the overbearing little sister i never wanted, percy jokes, so she kisses his cheek before shoving him out of the way. she's little more than a gentle push, but he plays along and falls dramatically to the ground. she laughs alongside all of them and then waits till percy and annabeth pull ahead and it's just her and nico walking quietly to the hades cabin.

he stops outside the door and hesitates for just a second, but then he's wrapping his arms around her and suddenly hazel has to fight back the ridiculous urge to cry.

i'll be leaving, soon, he whispers. i'm sorry.

hazel nods, and she hates the quivering of her voice when she asks: but you'll be back?

nico gives her a small, teasing smirk.

of course, he says and steps back into the shadows of the trees. how could i forget the little sister i've always wanted?

* * *

sometimes she thinks of leo. of sam. of who they both were, and who they were to her. those night the jewels in the sky burn painfully in her palms.

* * *

frank stands at the shoreline, lets cold water drift over his feet and thinks.

where before he had been a lowly soldier, on probation – now he is respected; his opinion is trusted; jason and percy and hazel and the rest of the seven care about his voice; he is approached by the younger campers, who look to him for answers.

 _if only he had any to give._

* * *

he hears his name called from behind him, and when he turns it's percy walking casually towards him. without annabeth, surprisingly.

he waves. turns back to face the ocean and braces himself for whatever's coming – maybe piper, or annabeth, sending percy to him as a messenger to check in.

a pang of guilt flashes through him at the ungratefulness because he finally has these friends, this family of those who care about him and respect him and here he is alone on a beach wishing they would all go away.

percy is next to him. they listen to the waves rush back and forth. he doesn't say a word, not as frank stands rigid and steadfast, not when he sighs brokenly, not when that sigh turns to gasps and then silent tears. he's on his knees on the sand, at some point and he feels percy's hand on his shoulder.

frank, percy says. his voice is grim. frank turns and looks up at him, tear tracks drying and when he does the gray sky is illuminated by the sun hidden behind it, and percy's sillhouette is dark but his green eyes are piercing. for an instant he looks otherworldly and frank sees more than his friend, sees what monsters and new demigods must see when they look at the foursome son of neptune.

but then he runs a hand through his hair and the gray parts, a little, and it's percy again.

frank, he says, more softly. i know. i know it's like everything is still on your shoulders even – even though it's supposed to be over, but – and you know, i'm not one to be talking with my – well, annabeth calls it my hero complex, but – listen. this, _all_ this – it isn't just yours to deal with. we're here. _i'm_ here. you're praetor now, and you deserve it, but – but you're not alone.

frank is frozen, but the words slowly seep through to his brain and then he hears every word, all at once – like the flash of light switch turning on. he nods.

percy's gaze feels like fire. do you understand, frank?

frank nods. nods again. then he says: you're not alone either. do _you_ understand, percy?

his eyes don't stray from his friend, his brother, until percy nods too. he extends a hand and frank grabs it and stands. he is just barely the taller of the two.

* * *

hazel sits on the hill at the edge of camp half blood. it's dark. she's been warned about harpies, but any possible fear about rule breaking has been long washed away after spending time with so many chaotic greeks.

a half-grin adorns her face in spite of herself. chaotic, messy, lovable, fierce, passionate _greeks_.

she hears soft steps behind her and sees a shaggy black dog trotting up the hill. he runs up and settles down beside hazel, sitting self-assuredly, regally next to her. she lets a hand run through his fur, and this time her smile is full.

i love you, she says, timidly. the dog nuzzles her neck. she continues: and everyone i love is right here.

she feels him shift and then it's frank the human wrapping an arm around her shoulder and whispering back:

i know you like it here. but, eventually –

she stops him. smiles. eventually, she finishes, we're going to go home.

he nods and leans in, and they both smile into the kiss.

they look up at the sky. stars twinkle and they do not remind her of cursed jewels and they do not remind him of burning flames. instead, they think of each other.


	5. reyna

a/n: this is the last chapter. i loved writing this, and thanks to all those who enjoyed reading it! i want to write more personal interactions between the seven + nico + reyna as different fics, so let me know if you have favorites! sidenote: this got a little dark? but i love reyna :)

* * *

"rebuild your world, rebuild your empire

but make sure you rebuild your ideals too...

be a force for good, not a force for yourself."

― dan abnett

* * *

reyna is used to solitude.

it does not scare her (it used to, back when she was younger, when she was freshly abandoned by her sister and left to fend for herself, when she first started pushing her resentment for that pain down, deep down, down to where it could not hurt her).

when she treks into the woods surrounding camp half-blood, stands alone in the silence of the natural world that does not feel silent at all – instead it feels like a powerful but subdued hum, like pressure just underneath the surface like an underwater volcano waiting to erupt – reyna closes her eyes and obeys the silence, rests unmoving and unfettered.

this solitude is a blessing (this solitude is a curse).

* * *

reyna rallies her troops and helps them recover. they are bruised and tired, but they retain a strength that arises only from the thrill of triumph. they mingle with the greeks, whom – for all of her external disapproval, reyna cannot seem to genuinely dislike – and reyna watches. she watches the way they laugh over jokes around campfires, relay their fiercest battle stories, mourn their common dead, and together, heal.

their attempts to regain happiness make her lips quirk upwards with the smallest hint of a smile. the perception, of course, has always been that she is a praetor and a warrior – a vision of strength and cold calculations, and a battle-hardened leader with no room for the weakness that is human emotion – and she _is._ she is all of that.

but sometimes, when she lies in the makeshift extra tents set up for her, listens to the distant tide and feels the difference of the air in New York (and it _is_ different, somehow, as though here there is a distinct lack of pressure that has been lifted but at the same time has left a pocket, an empty black hole that is sucking in everything around it, including her), reyna breathes in slowly to calm herself from the rush of emotions that wash over her and it comes in the form of a deep, shuddering breath.

that is when reyna determinedly gets out of bed and makes her way silently to the training grounds with a sword, hacks her way through every dummy until there's nothing more than shreds and does not confront all the _fucking sorrow_ that threatens to consume her _because they won, gods damn it, they won and she helped them win and she did her job well and she made her predecessors proud and why the hell is that still not enough?_

reyna is nothing if not determined.

* * *

hylla attends the celebratory feast.

she sits, of course, with the amazons. reyna had seen her in battle, a fierce commander and a mighty leader that their mother would have been proud of. they had interacted, greeted one another briefly and then returned to the battlefield separately, losing sight of one another until now.

reyna herself does not sit for long. she eats quickly before standing and making room for others, and then wanders purposefully through the mess hall, her eyes weary but still performing the constant routine of surveying, scanning, analyzing. she spots hylla glancing at her, occasionally, but she doesn't know what she'd say to her older sister and is glad that she doesn't approach.

 _you are a coward_ , reyna thinks to herself. she watches _her_ sister throw an arm around an amazon sister and laugh.

* * *

one night, she stands outside the pavilion and listens to the rush of tree branches shifting in the wind.

a voice behind her calls her name, and without a moment to think she is whirling around with practiced grace, has a sword drawn and aimed before the intruder can blink, and it's her sister. they look at each other.

hylla, she says. her voice trembles and she hates herself for it.

hylla sighs, smiles: how are you, sister?

reyna purses her lips and sheathes her sword, but her fingers don't leave its handle. she shrugs and says: alive. more than i can say for so many others.

hylla nods. there's a long beat of silence, and then:

the amazons and i will be leaving soon. to go home.

reyna's voice still trembles even as the rage inside her builds. it's unlike her to speak so openly, but she does: i was your home. i _am_ your home, you swore it to me, swore it all those years ago when we faced _death_ together, hylla and – i was _always_ supposed to be your home, and you've abandoned everything –

i've found my place, hylla cuts her off, sharply. i've found my home, now. and you have too.

there's a pause, and then: we stayed together because we needed to survive, reyna. but you and i were not meant to live and die by each other's sides.

it hurts, but not sharp and stabbing, not a flesh wound; no, this hurts like the scorching burn of too much sunlight, like a hammer shattering glass.

reyna's eyes water until hylla's sad, cold face is blurred. she lets herself hate the family resemblance, and turns back towards the trees. go, then, she says, and here at last her voice is firm. go to your _home_.

it's embarrassing how much she cares, but then again, what has she done in front of her sister except show weakness?

hylla's footsteps are silent when she leaves, but to reyna they echo like drums of battle.

* * *

the next time she's outside the pavilion on her own, she runs into nico. he offers her a half-hearted grin and she returns it with a nod. they sit together quietly under the trees, listen to the rustling of the leaves and watch the stars twinkle faintly. it feels different this time.

i know, he says abruptly. his soft voice breaks the tranquility.

what? reyna asks.

nico nods to her. it's over, and it isn't enough, right? you've done all this good, and there's all these people who care about you – and still. it's not enough.

she stares even as nico returns his gaze to the stars above them. she feels suddenly and uncomfortably vulnerable, as if someone had thrown her into a coliseum with nothing but the clothes on her back. she shifts her gaze from her companion to the stars.

you're right, but what am i supposed to do about it? she admits, quietly. it's unlike her. she's been doing a lot of things unlike herself, lately.

nico half-laughs. if i knew, i wouldn't be sitting here in the dark with you.

they look at each other, and then break into (only slightly hysterical) laughter. it feels good, even though it doesn't make sense.

* * *

reyna spends afternoons with piper, hazel and annabeth, and female friendship is unfamiliar but welcome; she walks along the beach with percy, wonders at his strength and feels him wondering at hers, because despite their differences in that way, at least, they are the same; she discusses praetorial duties with frank, helps him embrace his strength; she even cracks jokes with leo, to everyone's surprise (this is another thing unlike herself). she dreads the first time she and jason are alone together, but she steels herself and finds she no longer needs to. he is happy, both with piper and on his own, and he deserves it. they all do.

so does she, reyna's beginning to realize.

* * *

the romans return to san francisco.

reyna leaves hylla behind. she leaves jason and percy and annabeth and piper and everything behind. they visit frequently, and she enjoys it, genuinely, lets herself feel real with these demigods who have fought by her side and against her side and embraces it.

but she leaves it behind.

when she returns to new rome, reyna is no longer just a fearsome praetor, a deadly warrior, a rejected girl, a broken little sister.

when she returns to new rome – to her _home_ , and maybe hylla _was_ right about that – reyna finds herself venturing into the sparse woods.

it's silent – really silent. she remembers running through woods with her sister, when they were young. when they were innocent.

but her sister is not here. no one else is.

it's just her, reyna, and this silence – this comfort of knowing the quiet exists but also that it ends: when percy and jason and piper and annabeth and leo and calypso and frank and hazel and nico come barreling through, surprising her, she laughs and feels the solitude lift.

it's a blessing (reyna doesn't really believe in curses anymore).


End file.
